Forgive and Forget
by Pemalite Creation
Summary: A so-far ignored character adds his point of view and calls attention to a little bit of bravery on his part.


_This essay is a quoted and edited portion of the autobiography Down the Rabbit Hole by Charles Wood. Other parts of it were reprinted legally for the purpose of D.A.R.E. and S.A.D.D. textbooks throughout America. The permission for us to copy it was given to us by Mr. Wood's nephew._

Addiction can do crazy things to a person. I see young kids, no older than 10 even, getting drunk, getting high, smoking, and I just shake my head... After all I've been through you couldn't tell me that those kids actually know that they're throwing their lives away. If someone had told me the real magnitude of what I was getting into when I was young, hen I was offered that first beer at a party, I'd have just laughed. 

I've done many things I'm not particularly proud of. Having been villainized is not something that bounces off a person easily. The dirty looks I've gotten all my life can't be shaken off. 

Don't try to tell me you haven't thought of alchoholics and immediately, by force of habit, labeled them evil. It's the drug that's evil. It's the druggie that's weak-willed. Alchohol had taken over my life. And before the accident, before rehabilitation, before I got my life back, I had destoryed others'. 

Ah, the young couple I killed while driving drunk sat too heavily on my soul for me to live with myself -- so heavily, in fact, that I dressed myself up and got sober and went respectfully to the Geiger's funeral, hoping to be forgiven. I wasn't. 

So you see how I could try to ignore that face, those eyes, that name in the newspaper when I saw it for the first time. The sad, dreamy eyes which were those of the other one whose life I had destroyed due to my alchoholism. Those tortured, hopeful eyes shined as the boy in the photograph smiled up at me radiantly. The smile cut me down to my heart and beat it brutally, untl my chest was sore. I closed the newspaper... 

Something, maybe my own guilt, forced me to cut out that picture and hang it on the bulletin board above my bed. It hurt so much to look at that face, but I was drawn to it. Buy the end of the week, I had memorized every feature of the picture, even the backround and the face of the one he was standing next to. When I left the house, the article hung over my head, and the eyes of that boy bore into my soul... 

**April 17.** I had work to do, but I couldn't think clearly today. All I did was pace back and forth. My chest ached with the familiar pang of guilt. If I went and approached him, would he be angry? He had every right to be, certainly. Would I leave without facing him? Would he turn his back on me? Possibilities, each more bitter than the last, swam around in my head. 

In any case, I couldn't take it any more. I threw on my coat and walked to the well-known address... The house was large and white and cheerful. White- and pastel-colored crepe paper and ribbons and balloons and bouquets of flowers gaily hung from everything. There were two children, all dressed up, playing on the swings and in the driveway in the front of the house. A woman in a fancy dress was trying to keep both of them from ruining their suits... 

I stepped tentatively into the backyard. The sight that awaited me was too much, almost. I didn't know what I was expecting -- it was just a wedding, after all. But I was terrified and aprehensive nonetheless. Happy people gossiped and laughed, hugging each other and drinking champagne. Little childrens' cheeks were pinched and kissed with remarks of "Oh, how you've grown!" and caterors smashed into decorators and musicions, trying to get everything ready. Two men were hiding behind a tree, trying not to laugh as they secretively put the finishing touches on a small centerpiece made of bird seed and stuffed rodents. 

Two gazebos, the interiors hidden by majestic velvet and silk cloths hung artistically from the rooves, sat on either side of a wicker-wound altar with white roses climbing up the edges. 

Shakily, I sat down in one of the white folding chairs that were set up. I nervously fiddled with the soft, white, velvet ribbon that rested on my chair. A young couple approached me and, as I looked up, I realized in horror that they looked almost exactly like the people I'd killed. I looked away, red-faced, realizing that I'd been openly staring. 

"Excuse me, sir," he young lady said timidly. "I think you're in one of our seats." 

I blushed redder, ashamed, and looked down at the ribbon I'd been tying and untying. It had a purpose - I'd accidentally dropped the papers and camera it had been holding together. They helped me pick the notices up while I babbled out apologies. 

"I'm not exactly expected here," I explained... 

As it turned out, [the young lady] Jennifer was a very credited human service worker and psychologist. She worked frequently with alchohol and drug addicts. I felt open and unashamed talking to her. By the time the ceremony had started, I was completely ready and confident to approach the boy. 

Then he walked out of the gazebo. 

There are so many things that you can't tell from a black-and-white photograph. I felt my newly gained confidence slip away as I went limp in my chair. The boy, now a man, looked even more nervous than I. His best man was calming him down and straightening his tie while he sweated profusely and blushed at the sight of all the people who had come. 

Don't ask me how I got through the ceremony... It was an Italian wedding, having been organized by the bride's mother [Jennifer explained to me]. Italian ceremonies are always very long. So that gave me lots of time to sit and think, warily staring at my nephew gaze lovingly at his bride and wondering if I would ruin the happiest day of his life. 

"Hang in there," Jennifer whispered to me, reading the look on my face and gently patting my arm... 

**An eternity later.** To be careful, I didn't have any champagne. I had promised, to the United States of America and to myself, that I'd never again have another drink. Even so, it was very embarassing to stand next to the children, sipping a cup of soda. I recognized two of the children as being the ones who played in the front yard, messing up their outfits, much to thier mother's dismay. 

Several people came to socialize with me, including the best man (he was one of the people working on the bird seed centerpiece) and many of the bride's relatives. I noted, with a pang of guilt, that only friends came for the groom. 

By the time the toast was over and the food was over and everyone was dancing, I felt tears well up in my eyes. I threw my soda can in the trash, wiping my eyes. The sound caused my nephew to snap his head in my direction, but I walked out of the ceremony, out of the backyard, and rightfully out of his life, still feeling his eyes on me as I stepped off the pavement of the driveway and sat on one of the low swingsets next to a child. 

"What's wrong, Mister?" she asked innocently. I stared, through my tears, to her. She couldn't begin to understand. And I couldn't begin to tell her... 

"There you are!" the best man came bounding over, picked her up, and swung her around by her wrists. She giggled gleefully and hugged him. "I've been looking all over for you!" 

He dropped his smile as he looked to me. I was already embarassed enough. I couldn't bear his look of pity. "You okay, buddy?" 

"He's sad 'cause he's afraid ta talk ta the gwoom," his daughter explained... 

Then, at the mouth of the driveway, he appeared. Looking at me. His glance was not upset, not angry, but more mystified, and slightly confused. As was his way. 

The best man nodded to him and carried his daughter back into the backyard as the boy stepped slowly towards me. He sat down on the plastic swing beside me, staring at the ground and gently rocking back and forth. 

"So," he mumbled at last. 

I took a deep breath. And then another. And another. Looking down, I realized that small dark circles were appearing in the dust below the boy's head. His eyes were red and watery. 

Suddenly, the words that had been so hard for me to say came out easily. "I'm sorry. I-I just... The booze and... it.. it..." Well, maybe not _that_ easily. 

My nephew held up a hand to interrupt me. He wiped his eyes, stood up, and began to leave. But he didn't. I looked, hopefully, at his back for a while. Then he turned around to face me. 

"Get off of my mother's property," he snapped. I stood up, despite my weak knees, and walked down the driveway. 

So. That was that. Without any more emotion, I stepped onto the street, stuffed my hands in my pockets and headed home. 

"Uncle..." I heard a timid voice behind me. I turned around, and my nephew flung his arms around me. We cried together, hugging right there on the side of the road. 

"I'm sorry," I said more the hundredth time. 

"I know." 

Jennifer and the maid of honor were smiling at us, leaning back against the garage. Fresh tears fell down my cheeks as we parted. 

"You've grown," I remarked. We both laughed as I smiled broadly and pinched his cheek. 

With my arm around his shoulder, we headed back into the backyard. He told me all about his life and his new wife and his friends, and I told him what I could to keep the mood cheerful. 

I danced with Elizabeth, the daughter of the best man, and joyfully watched the party go on. The bride, having been expected to scream at the best man and his friend for their bird seed centerpiece (although I didn't know why), exploded with laughter and hugged them both. A similar reaction was not had after she saw a banner reading "Ranma and Akane Forever." People laughed and cheered at the sight of the bride chasing the best man's friend down the street, threatening him and shouting: "I swear to God, Marco, you WILL pay!!!" 

The fun went on until it got too cold. By then, few people were left. My nephew and his wife, the best man and his, Elizabeth, and Marco (who was drenched in champagne as a joke), and I. We sat, leaning back in the white folding chairs, watching the stars. 

I turned my head to my nephew. "Friends, eh?" I asked. 

He turned and smiled at me. He patted my shoulder. "Always. Forgive and forget, that's what I always say." 


End file.
